


Spare Time

by aplethoraofthings



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alien Biology, Come Inflation, Consentacles, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Penetration, Other, Overstimulation, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aplethoraofthings/pseuds/aplethoraofthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one really comes around anymore, but needs are needs y'know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spare Time

Lying steps into the room, robes swishing behind them. In their hand is a large blue vial, filled with a swirling mist. Their ruby heels click on the floor, the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Placing the vial on the floor, they briefly hesitate, twirling a lock of hair around a finger, weighing the pros and cons of someone finding them in the position they’re about to be in, but quickly dismisses such thoughts, feeling a bit stupid for even considering them. Of course no one was going to see them, that’s how they found themselves like this in the first place, alone and resorting to an absurd potion just to be satisfied. 

But hey, what can they say, they’re desperate.

Uncorking the vial, the mist slowly flows out. It spirals in the air, as if it were dancing for them. Then, one breaks off from the main group, and seems to solidify in front of them, bobbing gently. They cautiously reach out a finger to it, and it holds still for them. It’s slick and cool to the touch, and when they pull their finger away a thin, translucent strand of blue connects back to the tentacle. Licking the finger clean, Lying finds that it has a pleasant taste, similar to fresh fruit perhaps, one that makes their mouth water and leaves them wanting more. 

The tendril moves forward, eager for more attention, and they run the tip of one red painted claw along it’s side. It curls around their finger, and gives it a small squeeze, eliciting a chuckle from Lying. Tugging it to their lips, they plant a small kiss on its side, and it gently squeezes their finger again. They sigh, the sound somewhere in between impatient and affectionate.

“As nice as this is, I don’t have all day you know.”

Lying watches the tendril uncurl from their finger and start to help them out of their clothes. There are more at their back and sides, tugging at this and that until they’re stepping out of their panties, clad only in sparkling red heels. Their lips curl into a small frown at the realization that their clothing is now smeared with blue goop, but it’s a bit late for that now. The tentacles latch onto them now, smearing themselves on their pale flesh, twining through their fingers and wrapping around their arms. A larger tendril comes from from behind them and wraps around their middle. Lying leans back cautiously, testing its strength, but it has no trouble supporting their weight. They close their eyes, content to relax and let the tendrils explore their skin. There’s one up by their neck, particularly interested in smooth patch of skin underneath their left ear. Lying tilts their head, giving it more room.

The tendril accepts greedily, enjoying the new angle for a bit, until it slows to a stop, again just under their ear. They make a small noise, curious as to why it’s stopped. Then, there’s a slick noise, and something that feels like a tongue, but more textured, starts to lap and suck at their neck, drawing small gasps and sighs from him. Opening their eyes, they see a tendril split open revealing something that looks like a tongue, but bumpier. It dives down and latches on to their right breast, and they arch up into it’s touch.

All over them, the tentacles start doing the same, and Lying squirms and writhes, gasping. They feel more tendrils come and wrap around their thighs, tugging them apart. Another one slides up their thigh, licking and lapping it’s way up to the tiny tentacles in between Lying’s legs. They watch it with half lidded eyes and heavy breaths, tilting their hips up when the tendril hesitates, a clear invitation. It gently touches one of the tentacles leaving black smears on their upper thigh, and it responds in kind, gradually escalating until the blue tendril is rubbing against all of the tentacles against their left thigh. Lying grinds down onto it, panting and clutching at the tentacle around their waist. Another joins on the right and they buck their hips with a sharp gasp at the contact. They feel a small droplet of their slick roll over the engorged, sensitive nubs inside them, and they squirm at the sensation. 

“M-more…”

One of the tentacles sucking on their neck detaches with a soft, slick noise and slowly slides down their back, between their legs, and up into them in one fluid movement. A low moan of relief escapes them before they can restrain it, and they stamp a heeled foot on the ground in an attempt to get themselves under control. They pant harshly with each thrust, but it’s too small, too slow, it’s not enough.

“More,” they repeat.

Their demand is less shaky somehow, but holds more urgency. Regardless, they feel another tentacle detach from their neck and, but this one curiously turns into vapor and seems to be absorbed into the tentacle within them. Lying feels the effects immediately, of being stretched wider than Kirin could ever make them, and tilts their head back with a loud groan. The pace is faster than it was before, and they feel a familiar pressure building in their thighs. Their legs tense, their hands clench tight and start to shake, and everything feels like it’s just...just-

The tentacle holds them fast as they shudder hard, keeps them up as they gasp through the pulses of pleasure coursing through them. They’re vaguely aware of something dripping down their thighs, mingling with the smears of blue, but is more than a bit beyond caring. Still shaking slightly, Lying feels themselves being gently lowered to their knees.

Opening their eyes, they see a tentacle hovering in front of the,, and vaguely wonders if it’s the same from earlier. Either way, they treat it the same as they did before, bringing up a hand and letting it curl around a finger. It goes farther than that though, weaving in between their fingers and back again, and Lying snorts with amusement. Eventually, it seems to get bored and just wraps itself around a finger, squeezing occasionally. Lying brings it to their lips, giving it a small kiss, and it pokes at where their lips meet. They part them, letting the tendril run along their pointed teeth before opening their mouth fully.

The taste from before is even stronger now, making their mouth water. The tentacle runs over their tongue, along their cheeks and the roof of their mouth, before trying to go down their throat. Lying leans forward, placing one hand on the ground and the other on the tentacle, rubbing it up and down in slow, smooth strokes. They groan, eyes falling half lidded, breathing a bit heavy. Feeling a tendril rub up against them from behind, they arch their back, pushing their hips against the pressure. Lying pushes themselves down on the tentacle in their mouth, lowering themselves to rest on their forearms. Their ponytail falls to one side, leaving a slightly wet smear across their back. It's hard for their to focus or care, however, when the tendril behind them decides to stop teasing, instead rubbing against the half-swollen nubs inside them. 

Lying moans loudly, though it’s muffled by the tentacle in their throat. The force of the thrust rocks them forward, going deeper on the tentacle in their mouth. A small whine escapes them, and it pulls back to just rub against their tongue. They ignore it, focusing on getting into rhythm with the tentacle behind them and not becoming an incoherent puddle to some solidified vapor. The tendrils seem to have other ideas though, as more of them come and latch on to them. They wrap around their upper thighs, spreading them even wider, allowing the first to thrust into them harder. They whine again, and falls down fully, pillowing their head on their forearms as the tentacle slides back down their throat.

It’s getting more and more difficult for them to think, being rocked back and forth by the tendrils spit roasting them. Ass high and legs spread wide, their thighs twitch with each thrust into them. They drool around the tentacle, feeling it slowly run over their lips onto their arms. Each thrust makes them clench and shudder.Their eyes fall closed as the tension in their gut grows stronger and hotter, pulling tight-

They tense, shaking hard as another gush of fluid comes out of them. They make soft noises in the back of their throat as the pleasure dies down once again. They’re not sure if they can feel their legs, but is far, far too gone to care. The tentacle in their mouth pulls out, letting Lying gasp and pant, but the one in their sheath merely slows, drawing a long moan from them when hypersensitivity floods through them. Lying feels a tendril push on their chest as the one around their waist pulls them back up onto their knees, then move to support them further as they get hoisted into the air.

The way that the tentacle still in them rubs against the swollen, hypersensitive nubs inside makes them want to kick and squirm, to do something to show the pleasure they’re feeling. But the tentacles hold them fast, cool and steady against their hot skin, forcing high, breathy moans from them instead. Something comes under their ponytail, pillowing their head, and the tip of the tendril nuzzles their cheek. They lean into it, relaxing into the pleasure, a slightly dreamy smile tugging at their lips. Another tendril, notably slimier than the others, slides in between their asscheeks and rubs hard at their entrance. They exhale shakily at the feeling, in between desperate keens and high squeaks, but Lying tries to relax and press back against it as best as they can. It pushes in, slick and cool, and that full feeling makes them groan.

They’re not going to last much longer, they’re close, so close. Lying squirms and writhes as everything builds and builds, need burning hot inside them. They can feel the two tendrils rub against each other through the thin wall in between them, as they thrust deep inside them, and it’s a miracle they can remember how to breathe. Their hands start to shake violently, every breath a harsh gasp, and they just can’t hold on anymore.

When they come back to themselves, gasping and shaking, they’re still held aloft and spread wide. The tentacles are still pounding into them, making them whine at the continued contact. Cracking open one eye, they take a look down at themselves. Their dark grey slick slowly trickling down their thighs, some of it catching on dried stains from the previous rounds. The tentacle still thrusting into their sheath, though it’s gotten some what erratic. A lot more erratic, actually. Suddenly, they are tilted back and as the tendrils in them stiffen and twitch. 

There’s a sudden push of something into them, eliciting a quiet gasp from them. It’s cool and wet, and they squirm weakly at the unfamiliar sensation. Looking down again,as best they can, Lying sees the tentacles have a series of darker blue bulges in them, traveling quickly up to push into them. They groan quietly at the feeling of being filled with the leftover potion, making their stomach bulge.

Gradually, the tentacles come to a stop, and they get lowered gently to the ground. The stone is cold underneath them, relief from the heat slowly dying down inside them. The tendrils holding them gently let go, and the ones in them slide out, and they gasp at the rush of fluid coming out of them. They can feel it pooling between their legs, making an even bigger mess of their thighs. 

Lying yawns, blinking blearily, and gently rubs their stomach. The bulge is slowly shrinking, leaking out into the growing mess on the floor, but they can’t find the strength to really care. Their hand stops, and their eyes drift closed, content. Just before they fall asleep, Lying feels their shirt being loosely draped over them, and their hat plop down to cover part of their face rather than their head. They don't really mind.


End file.
